One Down
by cactusnell
Summary: Mycroft contemplates his own life on the evening of his brother's wedding. implied Sherlolly and Mythea


Mycroft Holmes sat in what the rest of the world would probably assume was a typically English room, in front of a warm fire, sipping a bit of his excellent Scotch. He had already imbibed a bit more than was usual this day, but he consoled himself with the fact that it was not every day that one's younger brother was married. In fact, Mycroft had, until recently, assumed that said younger brother would never marry, and was quite happy to be proved wrong.

Sherlock Holmes was happy. That was easy to see. Mycroft thought that he hadn't seen his brother this happy since their childhood. Sherlock had been a cheerful child, active, boisterous, and always getting into trouble. Mycroft had doted on the boy, as only an older brother could, and the younger sibling had returned his affection in kind. They had been all but inseparable until Mycroft had gone away to school. Sherlock had then withdrawn into himself, instead of looking for companionship in his peers. He had been a sensitive child, perhaps overly so, and his elder brother had done his utmost to protect him from hurt. But this protectiveness had worked to his detriment, as it left him seemingly permanently unable to process the normal slights which come with living in this world. As he grew older he had isolated himself, stubbornly refusing to interact with others on a social level. Mycroft knew that Sherlock, however irrationally, blamed him for abandoning him.

As the boy grew older, he took to experimenting with anything to ease his discomfort, turning to drugs during his days at university. The drugs dulled his mind, eased his boredom, and made up for his lack of social skills. Mycroft, ever the protective older brother, looked after him, much to the younger brother's resentment. He picked him up from the streets, checked him into rehab multiple times, made sure he had a decent place to live and food to eat. And Sherlock almost hated him for it.

So, while Mycroft had been stuck in this overbearing protective mode, looking out for his baby brother and the what was left of the British Empire, at the same time, something had happened to Sherlock Holmes. He had found something to live for. And someone. He had found a calling in his work as a detective. He had found redemption in the friendship of a good man. And he had found happiness in the heart of a wonderful woman.

The wedding had gone off without a hitch. Sherlock looked appropriately nervous, while pretending all the while not to be. Molly was radiant. People often describe brides as radiant, exaggerating the quality. But Molly did, indeed, seem to glow with some sort of inner light. John Watson had been the best man, of course. And Mycroft Holmes, with his parents beside him, had beamed with pride as his brother took his vows. Yes, Sherlock Holmes had, indeed, morphed into a happy man, and Mycroft was left to his own devices and desires.

Mycroft took yet another sip from his glass. He was content, but he wasn't happy. As he surveyed the landscape of his life, he knew that there was something missing, and he had an inkling of what that was. All evening, at the wedding reception, his eyes had drifted back to his personal assistant, Anthea. She went everywhere with him, so it was only natural that Sherlock and Molly had insisted that she be at their wedding. She had become a fixture in his life, but others knew so little about her.

Anthea was a trained killer, and had, in fact, once removed a threat to his life with "extreme prejudice", as they say in the trade. She presented an outward facade of cool sophistication, but could curse like a longshoreman. The dulcet posh tones with which she spoke were originally an affectation, but now had become second nature to her. Mycroft Holmes, alone, was privy to the harsher tones of her Eastend accent. Most people did not see this side of her, assuming that she was part of his office staff only, seeing to his schedule, and shuffling his paperwork. The fingers which danced constantly over her mobile were not exclusively sending or receiving text messages, however, but were more often involved in a game of "Minecraft", creating and conquering new worlds, perhaps turning chickens into scrambling fiery balls of feathers. She liked to do that, Mycroft knew, and he could always tell when she was thus occupied by the cunning smile on her face.

After yet another sip, he found that he was smiling, as the thought occurred to him that, if his younger brother could manage to pull off such as feat, surely he, the smarter brother, could do the same. The care and feeding of Sherlock Holmes was now the purview of his newly acquired wife, and Mycroft was sure she would make an excellent job of it! This freed up a considerable portion of his own calendar to devote to his newest project. Reaching into his jacket, Mycroft pulled out his mobile.

WOULD YOU CARE TO HAVE DINNER WITH ME TOMORROW EVENING? - M HOLMES

WHO WILL BE JOINING US? SHOULD I MAKE RESERVATIONS? - ANTHEA

JUST US. AND I DO NOT REQUIRE RESERVATIONS AT MY OWN HOME - M HOLMES

There was a slight delay before the return text arrived, as Mycroft was sure there would be. Anthea was, of course, considering all possibilities, and probabilities.

I'D LOVE TO. - ANTHEA

SEE YOU AT EIGHT, THEN- M HOLMES

Mycroft smiled at her response. He was a man who got what he wanted, and now that he knew what that was, he would tolerate no delay in achieving it. He only hoped that Sherlock would not cock up the best man's speech at the upcoming nuptials.


End file.
